


Tumble Like Stone

by cathymee



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-09-23 11:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20339278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathymee/pseuds/cathymee
Summary: Drabbles.





	1. A Page Torn from My Book

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and places mentioned in this fanfiction were made by Tolkien himself, and were merely borrowed for the sole purpose of entertainment. Y'all might not know what my real name is, but I can assure you that my surname isn't Tolkien. I only own the craziness.

Maybe he had not promised to be there.

But that does not mean he can stand the thought of Frodo leaving him.

But seeing him there, looking at him with that sweet, patient smile, Sam felt his heart twist with both pain and contentment. If he could find healing in the West, away from his Sam, then so be it. Sam would not let his uncertainty of facing his future and fear of losing him get in the way of Frodo's joy.

So Sam just stood, locking eyes with a friend he had grown close to, drinking in the comfort of those blue eyes staring right at him for the last time. He felt his heart twist again when Frodo looked away, now fixing his eyes ahead.


	2. It Fell Down

You had failed.

As you swung your sword, it is the only thought that you could think of.

You had _failed_.

You had joined the Fellowship to protect the Ring-Bearer, had you not? But then there you were, falling to the false promises of the Ring, knowing full well that it was not true, yet insisting that It was right, and Frodo was wrong.

You had _failed_ because you are _weak_.

It does not matter whether you are the High Warden of the White Tower, or the Captain-General— you are a man, easily corrupted. And now Frodo is nowhere to be seen, perhaps scared and confused by your strange behaviour — the once fair and kind-hearted man from Gondor that he had met in the Council suddenly became a stranger.

"Run!" you cried, as you saw where the two of the Halflings still stood. You swung and stabbed, adrenaline still in your veins.

And you saw the arrow before it struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make it clear, I do not hate Boromir. Of course he's one of my favorites. I see some people saying that Boromir was too weak and stupid and I disagree. Told by Tolkien himself, men are just too easily corrupted, so I do not blame him. He had never meant harm to Frodo, and he died protecting Merry and Pippin, and kept fighting even though he had been struck and in pain. He is a true hero. I love him as much as I love the others. :)


	3. Let Me Be, Set Me Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It does not want to let go.

I don't want to leave, Sam. _Believe me_.

But I'd rather go away instead of seeing you worry and frown when I am in pain. I had done too much lying and covering up and hiding the pain just for you, and I told myself that I'd rather suffer alone. 'Tis too precious to see you happy with Rosie and little Elanor, and would I be happy with myself if you hover around me and care for me still even though you have a family of your own? No, my lad. You had done too much for me already, cared for me when I feel alone, loved me when I feel abandoned, whispered sweet assurances to me when I thought that the Ring would drive me crazy. You're too good for me, Sam.

But now, it seems like the Ring is right all along.

It whispered things to me, too, Sam. Whispered about how my suffering would never end, how I would _fail_, or if I succeeded everyone would stare at me with such hatred— _Aragorn, Gandalf, Elrond, Bilbo_— look at me in the eye and declare their disappointment— _Galadriel, Legolas, Gimli, Glorfindel_ — that even though the Ring had been destroyed I still _failed_ because I'm still _living_— _Fatty, Merry, Pippin, Rosie_ — that everyone no longer accepts me and I should've just died with It— _**Sam**_ — and I could not stop it let it stop please just let me **_go_**—

The _precious_ is still with me, Sam.

_It doesn't want to let go. <strike>As much as I never wanted to let it go.</strike>_

But you'd been there, haven't you? Had seen me descend into madness and _claim_ the Ring for my own. A last act to save me from the real madness that my failure would lead me to.

I cannot take it, Sam. I cannot let you see.

Let me leave, Sam. If Death would not claim me yet, let me try to find the healing in the West, away from you.


	4. Deep Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam waits.

"I can see you slipping away, my dear." Sam murmured as he lifted his hand and caressed Frodo's pale cheek, unused to seeing it without its rosy color.

Each day, he sat and pray and held his cold, maimed hand, waiting for a sign of waking from him, as healers bustled around and try to take him away from him.

Each night, his heart cracks because he saw his eyelids flutter, but he cannot see the blueness of his eyes, and there would be a voice in his head that kept on saying that he would never see them again.


	5. Grieving

You'd seen him in Gandalf's arms.

Scarily thin, full of dirt and grime, and near-death.

You looked at your hand and clenched your fist.

You promised to protect him, haven't you? Where were you when he was fading?


	6. Father

"Father?"

He hummed his acknowledgement. 

"Is Boromir better than me?"

A shake of a head. "No, m'lad. I love you both equally. I love you as much as I love him."

Little Faramir smiled, eyes full of tears.

"I love you as well, Father."

—

"Father?"

Denethor tore his eyes away from the chest of diamonds and looked at his little son. He kneeled down and ruffled his hair.

"What is it, my son?"

"You love Boromir better, right?"

Denethor sighed. "No. I love you as much as I love him."

Faramir's heart cracked, and he grasped his Father's robes as he wept.

—

"Father?"

He did not look, too busy drowning in grief.

—

"Fathe—"

A shout, and Faramir winced as Boromir held his hand and dragged him towards their room.

"There's a visitor,"

"Who?"

Boromir remained quiet. Faramir can hear the angry shouts, and he itched to go there himself and protect his father, but what can he do?

—

"Father?"

Denethor smiled, looking at his son.

"My warrior."

Faramir beamed.

—

"Father."

"I do not want to hear anything."

Cold. Menacing. Faramir did not mind.

—

"Father."

There was no answer.


	7. Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo wishes to count.

_One, two, three,_

His Mama and Papa taught him how to count. Mushrooms were growing back then, in their backyard.

_Four, five, six_

Bilbo used to make him count lilies, gathering them up in Spring as a gift to certain lasses that he once admired when he was a tween. Sam cheered him on, staying with him as a moral support and to ease his nervousness.

_seven, eight, nine..._

Frodo never thought of how cold and hard the floor that he was sitting on, too busy trying to draw air to his lungs, his stiffled cries echoing on the hallway. Nobody was there. He didn't mind. Tears ran down his face whilst his lithe body slid down, feeling the wall behind him. He clutched the fabric on his chest, letting it wildly scramble to find the familiar chain, the familiar golden jewelry...

No.

Frodo shuddered. The floor was fine, but the wind was too much. He has to find Sam—

...or not.

He didn't.

_ seven, eight, nine... _

_ There was pain, in his shoulder, in his chest, in his nape, all over his body, as Sam held his weakened and filthy form, rocking him back and forth. But most of all it was his mind, being torn and tormented and raped by multiple, never-ending, venomous thoughts that came from the Ring, as if Sauron was there, using it as his very own playground. He heaved and gasped and panted, his throat raw, his chest painfully itchy. _

_ He wishes for Death to come. _

_ But when did he ever get what he wanted? _

_ seven, eight, nine...  _

_ "Noro lim, Asfaloth!" he cried fiercely, clutching at the mane as tight as he could, fighting the darkness that crept on the edge of his vision.  _

_ seven, eight, nine... _

Frodo closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling  as panic began to fade little by little. There were footsteps coming his way, and he needs to go to his assigned chambers, locked away once again from the people who pretended to care for him.

_ ...ten.  _

That number doesn't exist anymore. At least that's what his fingers made him realize.


	8. Plus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry never knew loneliness, because Frodo was there.

You were there ever since he was a tween. "_His parents had gone away_," your Da told you. "_Why_?" you'd ask, but no one would answer. Except for Frodo, though, saying that "_it's because they have to go_", but you could tell that he was unsure himself. Parents need to watch their children, right? Then why did they go away? Frodo is the best hobbit you'd known, the warmth that you have whenever your Ma and Pa would go away as well to do their business in the Hall, the pillow you have when you simply want comfort that you can't draw from anyone else. Just someone you had whenever you felt alone. Why did they leave?

You heard some people talking about Frodo today. You gave them _the talk_, with curse words that Uncle Bilbo used to teach you secretely, and Frodo looked like he was about to cry and laugh at the same time. He beamed at you, truly smiled at you after faking a lot, and you felt like you were about to burst with happiness. You made him happy!

Someone teased you today. Frodo fought for you. You ran up to him and hugged him, muttering _sorry_ over and over again. He gave you a lily, and it was _beautiful_.

You're there. He's there.

One plus one is two. You are one. Frodo is one. Two lonely people being combined. That's a good thing, cuz you're not lonely anymore. Frodo isn't lonely anymore. You'll make sure of that.


	9. Guilt of the Wise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf muses.

Would you forgive me, my dear hobbit?

Would you still look at me with hope and happiness when you wake up, seeing that the wizard you'd known ever since you're a wee lad is still alive?

Would you even look at me?

_I've sent him to his death._

I am drowning in terrible guilt, Frodo. I am scared— nay, _terrified_— that the boy I knew would never return. The boy with eyes that shone like the starry autumn sky, the boy I've grown fond of with his never-ending questions and wide-eyed curiosity.

Though I already know the answer, I would very much still like to know.

And, sadly, the answer is already obvious.

I'd seen it in your eyes whenever you leave the tents to go outside and sit in the ground, alone, staring at the stars that your eyes once reflected. Oh, my boy. I wish I could reach out and touch your soul to drive away the Shadow that vanquished your bright light. I wish I could wipe away the tears that you shed whenever you think no one was looking. I wish I could turn back time and hide you away from all the Evil, lock you up and let you and your innocence stay safe and hidden.

But you are not a child anymore, my lad.

You are an adult— responsible, brave, and wise. And if it was not for you and your bravery, the World would forever live in Darkness. And perhaps it is the thing that crossed through your mind everytime you feel like you're ready to give in, and so you kept on going, enduring every pain and suffering that the Ring bestowed upon you.

What great price have we paid.


	10. Remembrance

_Wicked, tricky, false..._

You found your hands reaching upwards, searching for the familiar golden circlet.

_Treacherous...he stole It...mine, mine, need it, mine—_

Visions flash before your eyes as though you were greeting Death. _Fire, ashes, the Eye, the edge..._

Would it be easy if you'd jumped? Let your body succumb to the Fire as much as you let your mind succumb to the poison of the Ring, Its cold grasp wrapping Itself in your soul, in your heart, in your veins, in you? Yes, it would. But what did you do? You reached for Sam's hand instead of letting go.

_You would've followed me...but you had not. Fool._


End file.
